


three's a crowd

by jockohomo



Series: extensions [5]
Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drinking, Established Relationship, Jealousy, Love Triangles, Multi, Trans Female Character, oh the drama of working at the yotsuba corporation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25943425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jockohomo/pseuds/jockohomo
Summary: Takahashi is an amazingly tolerant person, mostly because he is too self-conscious not to be. Even he has to draw a line somewhere.In which Mido stirs shit.
Relationships: Shimura Suguru/Takahashi Eiichi, one-sided Midou Shingo/Shimura Suguru
Series: extensions [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1067228
Kudos: 3





	three's a crowd

**Author's Note:**

> content warning for alcohol usage, sexual references, and slight physical violence.

“Is something wrong?”

Shimura, previously hunched over his drink, jolted as if shocked out of a dream and fixed Takahashi in his wide-eyed stare. “Who, me?”

“Yeah,” Takahashi answered quietly, leaning over to rest a hand tentatively on Shimura’s arm. He felt him shudder. “You’ve been off all night.”

Shimura eyed him bemusedly for a moment, brow furrowing, and then he shook his head. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Are—”

“Something been keeping you up?” Mido asked from across the table, brushing a lock of brown hair back behind her ear. Her voice was quieter than usual and had a certain quality to it that Takahashi couldn’t define. 

Their third companion, meanwhile, looked as if he had been struck. His stare had turned from Takahashi to Mido; there was an odd look on his face, contorted somewhere between guilt and horror, and then his eyes dropped down to the table. For his own part, Takahashi had no talent for discerning expressions or tone—most things tended to go over his head. Shimura, though, he had known for years, and he could discern _his_ expressions if nothing else. He could certainly tell that something was wrong, something that had nothing to do with how much sleep his partner ( _boyfriend_ felt too childish a term, and lover felt embarrassingly intimate) was getting.

Shimura mumbled something unintelligible. 

“Huh?”

“...going to the bathroom.” Without looking back at him, Shimura climbed out of the booth and disappeared through the cluster of other patrons.

Takahashi followed him with his eyes before turning back to face Mido. After a pause, he cleared his throat. “I hope Suguru’s okay…”

Mido met his gaze briefly and then drifted away from it, taking a slow sip of her drink. The glass hit the table with a dull clink. “If anyone were able to tell, it would be you, right, Takahashi?”

He’d known Mido for years now, and somehow, talking to her wasn’t any easier than it had been when they first met, in some corner or another of the Yotsuba Corporation’s looming Tokyo office. He was painfully aware of his own reputation within their company as something of a fool, and Mido certainly subscribed to this belief as much as the rest of their colleagues. They never would have had reason to interact if it weren’t for Shimura, dear friend to them both that he was. He had been on good terms with Takahashi for some time, but he had always been closer to Mido until some months after Higuchi had been buried, when Shimura and Takahashi had suddenly found themselves engaged in some sort of fumbling, melancholic waltz. And so the three of them began associating with one another; and so Mido did not seem to like Takahashi any more now than she had when he was just another executive she passed in the hallway everyday. If anything, she seemed to like him less than she had back then, and she certainly didn’t seem to want to be _friends_. He could think of several reasons for why that might be, but he wasn’t tripping over the opportunity to bring any of them up to her.

Either way, they did not _talk_ often; they only saw each other when Shimura was between them. And now Shimura was not between them, and they were both consumed with silence.

Finally, after some time, Takahashi rose to his feet. “It’s… it’s, uh, been a while,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck and dropping his eyes to the ground. “I should go check on him. He seemed… upset.”

Mido followed his lead, keeping one hand pressed against the table for support; her movements were notably sluggish. “Planning to leave me behind? I’m his friend, you know.”

“I know.” Takahashi glanced back to her. “It’s just that—you’ve had a lot to drink, and…”

She narrowed her eyes. “And?”

“Well,” Takahashi said quietly, “Me and Suguru are… together, so… I mean, I really should—and you can if you want to, but it’s not your responsibility…”

“Oh, please,” Mido sneered, lip twisting bitterly. “You’re really acting like that dick belongs to you.”

_Oh._

Something clicked in Takashi’s head when he heard that. He and Shimura had made their relationship official (but distinctly private) something like two weeks ago, and they had both been happy, if nervous—Shimura had certainly seemed happy at first, and why wouldn’t he? Takahashi couldn’t fathom, of course, what Shimura saw in him, but they had both been alone for so long now—Shimura for years longer than Takahashi—and their companionship, even when still platonic, had become irreplaceable, essential. It had been something of a relief to admit the change, to embrace it, to make the most of what little comfort they had left; it had been liberating. And then, suddenly, Shimura hadn’t seemed happy anymore. He had become even quieter than usual, avoidant and anxious and withdrawn and prone to fits of misery, and at first Takahashi had chalked this up to one of his routine spells and supported him as best he could. It made sense now, that it had something to do with Mido; that she, in all her jealousy of and disdain for Takahashi, had done something to cause this. Shimura had always been desperate to please and assist her, after all; her disapproval must have crushed him. Takahashi was not confident in most of his abilities, but he was confident in his knowledge of Shimura.

The rage he felt was sudden and consuming. He didn’t think or see or speak, just pulled his fist back, and the next thing he knew Mido’s head jerked away from the force of the blow and her glasses were knocked unceremoniously from her face and he felt like his body was burning.

“Mido, what the fuck is your problem?”

“The _hell_?” She staggered once, barely missing her spectacles underfoot and staring at him widely. Neither of them moved for a moment, caught in some separate world of shock and anger. Then Mido pressed her hand gingerly to the ugly red spot on her cheek, then raised her fingers to the bridge of her nose, as if reaching after the phantom of her glasses. Any spite or disdain had disappeared from her expression, replaced by humiliation—the rest of her face was turning red as she knelt haphazardly to the floor, pressing her hands to the smooth wood in a half-drunken search.

“Did you say something to Suguru?” Takahashi demanded, struggling to be heard above the pounding in his head. “Have you even noticed how he’s been acting lately? Are you really so jealous that you can’t let him just be a little bit happy for once? Just for a fucking second?”

“Calm the hell down,” Mido muttered from the floor, shakily placing her glasses back onto her nose. Her eyes stayed down. “You think he’d like to have us fighting?”

He took a step toward her, fists clenched. “I’ve always tried to be friendly with you! But apparently that doesn’t matter to you since you won’t stop being bitter about the one thing that I’ve actually seen Suguru smile about in a fucking year!”

Mido coughed, setting her hand on the seat of the booth and pushing herself back to her feet. She gave Takahashi a nervous glance before taking a step towards him and hissing anxiously, “We’re earning ourselves an audience here. Can’t this wait?”

It _couldn’t_ wait, he knew that all too well—chances were they wouldn’t speak of this again, chances were they wouldn’t speak again at all until work or Shimura forced them to. Takahashi was realizing, though, that Mido was right—his head had been too full of rage for him to notice before, but now that the moment had passed, he could see the torsos turned towards them and the pairs of eyes fixed on their little debacle. The bar had grown uncomfortably quiet. 

He looked away from her, fists still clenched. “Fine. I’ll go get Suguru. Just—get out of here.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Mido replied, petulant, but she had turned and pushed her way toward the door before he could think of a response.

As soon as she had disappeared out into the street, Takahashi deflated. Chatter was gradually returning to the bar, and, one at a time, the faces seemed to turn back to their drinks, leaving him alone with what remained of his own. Defeated, he fished some amount of money from his wallet—more than enough to cover for the three of them—and left it on the table, starting in Shimura’s footsteps.

The bathroom was empty and dimly lit, accompanied by an older rock song that seemed almost inappropriately upbeat and certainly too loud. All of the stalls except one were open; Takahashi hesitantly approached it and rapped the door with his knuckles. 

“... Yes?” It was Shimura’s voice, quiet and hoarse, that came from inside.

He swallowed, shifting from one foot to the other. “It’s Eiichi. You’ve been—are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Mido left. I came to get you.”

There was a long pause between them, and Takahashi could hear Shimura rising to his feet and trying to sniffle quietly with mixed results. The stall door swung open.

Shimura had not done a very good job of disguising that he’d been crying. His eyes were red, his cheeks smeared, hair tousled as if he’d been gripping it and shirt similarly distressed. Takahashi imagined that he had been sitting on the toilet lid since he had left their table, in the throes of some sort of drunken breakdown, and it was suddenly very hard for him to make eye contact—which wasn’t too large an obstacle, since Shimura was avoiding it just as much.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.”

“It’s fine if you’re not.”

Shimura shook his head slowly, and Takahashi almost expected for him to ask if _he_ was alright. Instead, he said, “We should get going.”

“Can you walk on your own?” 

He nodded, straightening his back and heading for the door—somewhat unsteadily, maybe, but not to the extent that Mido had been. Takahashi followed and, fleetingly, thought of telling Shimura what had transpired in his absence, but of course he didn’t. Normally, Shimura already would have noticed that something was off, would have asked about it, but clearly he had enough on his mind already.

The bar was just as they left it, and by the time they arrived outside, Takahashi realized that he had forgotten the hour. The sky was clear and starless, a great blanket of dark color, and he and his companion were surrounded by the buzzing city lights and drifting nightlife—people with worries just like theirs, with jobs and hobbies and relationships, with no blood on their hands. They had both been like those vague figures, once—they still were, in some ways. How differently would things have turned out if they had never changed? Would the two of them still be standing there together? Would Mido have left early, or joined them in the first place? Who else could’ve been there? Was it worth it?

Shimura could communicate these sorts of questions when he was feeling contemplative; Takahashi could not, and not for lack of trying. He rested a hand on Shimura’s arm and sighed, watching the traffic around them.

“Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> https://sugurushimura.tumblr.com/


End file.
